Lourdes: A Vampire In The Old West

22. The Servant's Master Took Pity

"I'm sorry," Lourdes whispers with a voice borne on the desert wind. "When I entered this town, I had no intention of getting involved. And when I did, each step of the way, I warned I wasn't a hero. Each time I was drawn deeper in, I cautioned the townspeople again that I shouldn't be looked at for hope. I suspect they thought I might burn down the town or shake its buildings until they were tinder as others of my kind have, but that fear's remote. It's spectacular. It's grand. And it's a lie they've propped up to prevent the truth from entering their eyes. But you, you get to see the terrible truth. Your reward for your part in this tragedy is to understand intimately what I really am. I've run for so very long before stumbling into this pathetic town not to hide from my kind or to run from or toward death. No, I've tried to run from what I am. I've spent lifetimes trying to separate myself from the truth I don't want to see. But I can't anymore. I can't run anymore. I can't live anymore. I can't lie anymore. I can't protect anyone anymore. I'm sorry. I'm sorry your life led you to this moment. I apologize on behalf of heaven, hell, fate, and destiny. More than anything, I need to ask you to forgive me."

Lourdes emerges out of the shadows in Miss Beatrice Raffles's room inside the Guinevere Hotel. Through half-open eyes, the woman looks upon the corpse curled above her bed. Lourdes stands there as a being inseparable from the night. He wears ill-fitting skin covered in cracks, boils and burns mar his limbs, and holes run clean through his middle. Liam. Duncan. Egon. Breybinder. Annika. Rohm. All of Lourdes's fights now show on his face. All of his injuries and all of his years drag down his bones.

"Say you forgive me," Lourdes whispers.

He stares into Beatrice. The woman, seeing some other world, but looks at the monster. No fear registers on her face. No anxiety quickens her heart. She only shows a deep and profound fatigue.

"Say you forgive me," Lourdes whimpers.

His vision is dim, with the last of his gold dust sitting in clumps at the base of his eyes. Lourdes watches the girl's lips, counting on them to turn into a smile or a frown. Yet, they don't move. There is no voice. There is no sign. Beatrice's lips share with Lourdes only the same exhaustion found in his eyes.

"Say you forgive me," Lourdes begs.

Beatrice is mute. Her eyes bat about the gargoyle and then close for the final time. Lourdes shivers as he watches the girl drift off to sleep. He gags. He chokes. He recoils as his fangs rip from his lips.

Lourdes is all alone in the little room with the sleeping girl. He shuts his eyes. He opens them. His jaws plunge into Beatrice's neck. Lourdes bites into the apple. The perfume of roses fills the air. His mouth overflows with lifeblood. The girl's arms shoot up. She spasms. She rocks. She's awake. She tries to scream, but Lourdes steals her voice. Crimson. He pushes all his weight over her. Scarlet. She tries to fight, but he forces her down. Red. His lips on her spine and skeleton over her bones, Lourdes presses himself atop her until she's still.

Lourdes kills Beatrice. Lourdes murders Beatrice. Lourdes eats Beatrice. Lourdes splits her chest and tears out her heart and her lungs. He cleaves her flesh from her bones. He feasts. He gorges himself. He devours her blood, meat, and skin. And when he's had his fill, Lourdes stands again, leaving the bed a slick of pink and red.

Living blood in his veins, the vampire's withered husk is rendered new. Vigor coursing through him, every scratch dealt upon the child evaporates. Lourdes stands restored in bone white skin. He's pristine. And he couldn't have more contempt, remorse, and dread.

†

Stepping out of black smoke, Lourdes appears on the street. He stands before the Guinevere Hotel and refuses to let his eyes look back. He strides to his horse and without a word beckons it. At once, the steed riddles the dirt as fast as nature will allow. The animal presses on faster than a sprint. It winds its way through the quiet Town of Heather toward the dark church in the distance. Lourdes rides through the clear night, kicking into his beast. His horse's hooves cast off sparks of smoldering iron, and the vampire's eyes, gleaming into the black, are a storm of gold. The reborn devil will find an end to all this before the sun next kisses the sky.